


that makes two of us

by artificialromance



Series: we were strangers [1]
Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, I just love them very much, Light Angst, Sharing a Bed, i guess??, it's actually a blanket but you get it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 10:11:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15579663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificialromance/pseuds/artificialromance
Summary: Dmitry curses himself for resigning at Vlad’s pleas to “just settle down and get some rest, already.” Because it is cold, and his dear old friend is fast asleep on one blanket and under a second, leaving just one blanket for the two of them.(in which dima and anya are both too stubborn to be rational, until they're not)





	that makes two of us

“Do you think he’d notice if we tried to get the one from under him?” Anya asks, a little sleepiness in her voice. They had been running all day, after all.

Dmitry makes a face. “He’s the heaviest sleeper I’ve ever encountered, and it’s pinned down pretty good. I’d say it’s a no-go. But this one’s yours,” he says, picking up the last blanket off the ground and offering it to her.

“No! No, you can have it,” she says, swatting it away. “I don’t need it.”

“Neither do I.”

“No, but I  _really_  don’t need it. I already told you, I’ve slept in snow before. It’s...nostalgic.”

“You said I wasn’t a gentleman, and now you’re not even giving me the chance to be one!”

“A gentleman, as it were, would listen to me and do what I request. So I’ll say it again: take the blanket.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“No it isn’t!”

“Anya, please,” he says, taking a step forward to try to dump it in her arms. But she refuses, crossing her arms and turning away from him.

“No. I won’t be using a blanket while you freeze right next to me.” She finally drops to the ground and lies down on the grass. “It’s just not right.”

“Well, I’m not going to freeze, and I’m not taking it either way,” he grunts. He joins her, the blanket in between them resembling a border, like the many they both have yet to cross.

Vlad stopped snoring while they were bickering, deepening the now silence between them. And sure, Dmitry’s physically exhausted, but he’s tense as ever. He doesn’t know why, but it barely even feels like he’s lying down, much less like he’s doing any resting.  _Must be the cold,_ he guesses.

His resistance to rest is nothing new. Ever the insomniac, he wasn’t often in a position where he could really let his guard down to sleep for long, especially at night all alone back in Petersburg. A kid like him had to learn pretty quickly that people don’t leave other people alone to get a good night’s sleep, and he had always been a survivor first. It wasn’t hard to tell by looking at him, either. Though he grew some muscle as a teenager since being a scrawny little boy, Dmitry never did improve at getting the shut-eye he needed, and his eyes were usually a little sunken in, more so some days than others. _It makes sense,_ he eventually tells himself. After all, there are people looking for them right now, and none of them would know how close they were, and if they did find out, it’d surely be too late.  _But staying awake_   _wouldn’t change that_ , he tries to reason with himself.

He tries to relax a little more into the ground. It feels more forced than anything.

There’s movement in his periphery (finally, a welcome distraction), and it’s Anya. She's shivering. His skin is a little cold and dry but he’s made good so far on the no-freezing promise he made to her, so his face falls at the sight. She’s so much smaller than him; he should’ve told her to take it until she caved.

Then again, Dmitry isn’t sure that Anya’s any more familiar with surrender than he is. Probably less.

He gets out of his own head and a little more into hers. He imagines her bleeding in the snow like she told him, and sleeping in the winter woods with only a nightgown (whether royal silk or common cotton, a nightgown just the same) to keep the bitter Russian winds from stinging her wounds of loss and solitude. He feels a tug in his chest now, and after banishing the image of Anya shivering alone from his mind he remembers she  _isn’t_  alone, and that he’s staring and all it would take is her eyes fluttering open to catch him.

“I think I was wrong. I’m freezing already,” he lies, tucking his hands into opposite sleeves. Anya loves to be right, but he figures that if there’s one thing she's been missing the most all this time, it’s someone who understands her. Feels the same way she does. He’ll try his hand at anything for them to get a good night’s rest for tomorrow’s journey.

“Me too,” Anya admits. A start.

“It might be big enough to share,” he says. He stands up, picks the blanket up and shakes it out. “A little snug, but it could work.” She nods. He takes a step back and lays it over Anya, and decides against tucking her in before getting in next to her.

The blanket only covers him if he lies down shoulder to shoulder with her, so he does, and the game changes immediately when he does. There’s warmth, real warmth, conducive-to-sleep warmth where their arms touch. It’s so blatant that she has to have noticed it too. _Right?_

“Are you still cold?” Anya says.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yes. But you feel warm.”

“No I don’t.  _You_  do,” They’re both accusatory rather than observant, but with no bite. They’re both too exhausted, he supposes.

“But I’m not!” Anya whines. Dmitry’s a little irritated at the childishness of it all, but tries to let it go after acknowledging it. After all, neither of them got to be children so much during—well, childhood.

Anya huffs and stirs next to him. He turns to look at her and, eyes still closed, she rolls over and rests her head on Dmitry’s shoulder and curls into him on her side. “Is that better?” she mumbles.

“A little,” he says, heat from within creeping up to his face. He’s grateful for the dark, because he knows his cheeks and ears must be pinker than his cold-bitten nose.  _Damnit._

She looks so calm and peaceful like this. Her eyelids look softer than rose petals, her hair smells like chamomile and comfort, and he already knows she is beautiful when she’s awake running wild with fire and vigor, but she’s just as beautiful with all the glow and stillness of the moon, and he resists the urge to take his hand and trace her features and stroke her hair. Because his hand is cold, and that’s creepy.

Princess or not, she doesn’t seem to like him much at all, which is fine by him. After all, he’s survived far worse than proximity with a pretty girl who doesn’t belong to him. They're on a mission, and that's that.

But Dima still prays to whatever God may be up there that she doesn’t notice how hard his heart is beating.

Anya rubs her arm, the one that isn’t pressed up against Dmitry’s side, and without letting himself think about it Dmitry wraps his arm around her, drawing her in as close as possible. He’s grateful for the several layers of fabric between them, both fully clothed and bundled up, but it’s strangely intimate nonetheless.

“Is that better?” Dmitry asks.

Anya lets out a weak laugh. “A little.”

Dmitry’s lips melt into a smile. He lets his eyes close. He knows nothing's changed, not really, but he feels safer this way. Maybe he'll get some sleep after all.

**Author's Note:**

> All my favorite characters are stubborn and there are few things I love more than a pairing of two stubborn, powerful, strong-willed individuals having soft spots only for each other and so clearly when I saw Anastasia I fell in love with this pairing. definitely writing more but I'm completely new to this fandom so please leave encouragement/responses in the comments, each and every one means a lot to me <3 & thank you for reading!!


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